


Bed of Roses

by devilinthedetails



Series: The Ties that Bind [7]
Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Apologies, Confidence, Discipline, Discourtesy, Eavesdropping, Gen, Knight & Squire, Trust, courtesy, mentoring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-02-08 16:08:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12868161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devilinthedetails/pseuds/devilinthedetails
Summary: Imrah and Roald negotiate Roald's need to know.





	Bed of Roses

Bed of Roses

Roald needed a scolding, but Imrah wasn’t about to deliver it before an audience, even if the audience was only his wife. Public reproof, Imrah had found over years of teaching squires with temperaments that spanned from the placid to the querulous, only humiliated and hardened the hearts and minds of boys. That was why Imrah preferred to praise his squires publicly and correct them privately to the extent possible. With royalty, who were especially sensitive to being shamed before an audience, this seemed a particularly prudent rule of thumb. 

As he steered Roald across the entrance hall, through the spacious dining room, and out onto a terrace that overlooked blooming gardens and waving ocean, with a firm hand on his squire’s shoulders, Imrah could feel the tension coiled like a snake there. Obviously the lad knew he was about to be reprimand and was a bundle of nerves about it. That made Imrah remember with a twisting stomach how his own knightmaster had always seemed to tower over him in a rage before he had broken another one of Imrah’s bones. He wondered if he loomed so large in Roald’s eyes. 

Not wanting to cut as terrifying a figure to his own squire as his knightmaster had to him, Imrah sat down on the terrace’s stone wall and gestured for Roald to do the same. Once Roald was settled beside him, Imrah did what he defined as his duty as a knightmaster by describing his squire’s offense sternly but calmly. “You eavesdropped on a private conversation between my wife and me.” 

Imrah expected his squire— whom he was already discovering was much more of a traditionalist than his monarch parents—to admit to his fault without argument or to apologize as was customary for a reproached squire. Roald started on such a route but rapidly backtracked with a contradiction. “I’m sorry, sir, but I had to know.” 

Imrah could hear the Conte stubbornness lurking behind the polite apology: the obstinance behind the show of respect. Roald was essentially declaring that he had been right to snoop on a private conversation regardless of how it upset his knightmaster. 

“That’s unacceptable, Roald.” Imrah’s tone sharpened, and he gave Roald’s shoulders a shake that was strong enough to emphasize his seriousness yet not forceful enough to hurt. “Your ‘but’ nullifies your apology. If you’re going to apologize, have the grace to do it properly.” 

“I’m sorry, my lord.” Roald ducked his head, assuming the appropriate posture of a contrite squire but there might have been a wryness to his voice as he added, “No buts.” 

“You’re learning quickly.” Imrah clapped Roald’s knee gently, believing that sternness was most effective softened by affection. “That was a proper apology. I expect you to offer one to my wife as well, but that can wait until you’ve both had enough time to recover from your mutual embarrassment.” 

“Yes, sir.” Roald, cheeks flaming and eyes riveted on the cracks between the stones as if he could slip into them to avoid all awkwardness, sounded resigned to his fate. 

“Eyes on me.” Imrah tilted Roald’s chin up until his squire’s gaze met his. “I know that you’re ashamed to have been caught eavesdropping, but some of that guilt will lessen once you’ve apologized to the person you’ve wronged most, and that person isn’t me—it’s my lady.” 

“I didn’t realize she’d be so upset if I overheard her, my lord.” Roald bit his lip. 

“You should’ve.” Imrah arched an eyebrow. “How would you feel, squire, if you discovered that someone had been sheltering among the shrubbery or creeping behind an urn to listen to what we’re saying to one another in confidence? Would you like learning what you believed was a private conversation had an audience?” 

“No, sir.” Roald shook his head but pointed out quietly, “Lots of my conversations are probably spied on whether I’m aware of it or not. I’m used to that even if I don’t like it.” 

Imrah was reminded of King Jonathan’s quips about being royalty dooming one to live as a Player forever on stage. He felt a surge of sympathy for his squire, who was too reserved to relish such constant scrutiny, but kept his tone firm as he admonished, “It doesn’t matter whether you’re used to it or not, Roald. What matters is that you don’t like it, and courtesy is about treating others as we would like to be treated, not necessarily how we are treated. Eavesdropping isn’t courteous because it violates the dignity and trust of other people.” 

“I didn’t mean to be discourteous to you or Lady Marielle, and I will apologize to her too, but…” Roald, more earnest and subdued than argumentative, trailed off as if recalling Imrah’s stipulation about apologies being invalidated by a certain word that he had just uttered. 

“You felt you had to know,” finished Imrah, not having forgotten what his squire had said at the outset of their conversation. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he thought about how to respond to Roald’s motive for eavesdropping. He understood the boy’s need to know where he stood—Roald’s status as prince made defining their relationship in these early days even more complicated than the beginning of a typical knightmaster and squire one usually was—but couldn’t condone discourtesy, which eavesdropping indisputably was. At last he went on with a slowness that reflected the consideration he put into every word, “The problem with that is that you’re my squire, so you must trust me to decide what you need to know and when. I’ll tell you what you need to know. You certainly don’t need to eavesdrop on me.” 

“What if you don’t tell me something that I think I need to know, my lord?” Roald’s forehead furrowed. 

“Then you may ask me questions as you are now.” Imrah squeezed Roald’s shoulder. “I reserve the right to refuse to answer your questions, but you may always ask them if you think I’m not telling you something you need to know.” 

“What if you get angry at me for asking a question, sir?” Roald shot Imrah a sidelong glance. 

“I won’t get angry at you for asking an honest question as long as you show a modicum of respect.” Imrah smiled slightly. “If questions made my blood boil, you wouldn’t have been able to ask two in a row, squire.” 

“My lord.” Roald’s manner was bordering the beseeching. “Asking questions is hard for me.” 

“You could’ve fooled me with how you were firing them at me an eye blink ago.” Imrah tapped Roald’s nose with a teasing finger before continuing in a matter-of-fact manner, “Besides, if asking questions is difficult for you, Roald, some more practice would be beneficial for you to engage in. We improve our weaknesses through testing them, not by ignoring them. As your knightmaster, it’s my duty to challenge you so that you grow, not make your life a bed of roses.” 

“I don’t want a bed of roses, sir.” Roald spoke soberly yet there was a slyness in his eyes that made Imrah chuckle as his squire added, “Roses have thorns. I’d rather have a bed of grass.” 

“Touche. I wonder what you’d make of a bed of sand.” Imrah ruffled Roald’s hair, which was already stirred by the salty breeze rolling off the Emerald Ocean. “When we the last time you went to the beach, squire?” 

“Many years ago.” Excitement edged into Roald’s demeanor. “Before I started page training.” 

“Then let’s take a walk along the beach.” Imrah nudged Roald toward the steps off the terrace. “I did promise you a walk after all, lad.”


End file.
